


Elemental

by h_itoshi



Category: Kis-My-Ft2 (Band)
Genre: AU, M/M, Pick it up PV based, Slight Mindfuck, Some magic, dubcon, or something like magic idk, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 21:30:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13303629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h_itoshi/pseuds/h_itoshi
Summary: Fujigaya is one of the few things Kitayama finds intimidating. He came here not too long ago, and there's something about him that's not like everyone else.





	Elemental

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a Secret Santa exchange at the Kisumai Amino, and I was assigned Nica, so I decided to go with something slightly. Darker. Weirder? Idk.  
> I've wanted to write Pick it Up inspired fic since I first saw the PV so I decided now was the time. I must say I'm rather pleased with how it came out and I hope it makes at least some sense orz

Kitayama kneels at the edge of the water, feeling the cool mist of night brush his face in gentle caresses. He closes his eyes, draws a deep breath. Smells the forest, the moisture in the air, the leftover hints of sunkissed stone from the day. And the roses. The heavy perfume lies like a duvet over everything else, giving the illusion of a loved, verdant garden rather than what it actually is.

Another breath, relaxing his muscles, opening his mind. He hears the soft movements of water stroking the stone walls of its cage as wind touches the surface, hears chikadas far away in the distance, and the rustling of climbing vines as the softest breeze combs through the leaves.

Another breath, then he opens his eyes. The water glows turquoise from deep within, the mist rising from it shifting in purple and silver glitter as it breaks the moonlight, and Kitayama smiles.

Soon.

He was never scared as a child. Fearless to the point of danger and sometimes beyond, leaving his mother in tears over his injuries several times after risk taking went wrong. But he wasn't scared. Not of strange people following him, of dark back alleys late at night, of the darkness of his lonely room. Not of monsters under the bed, of death, of murderers. He still isn't.

The wind catches on, a gust sweeping through his loose hair and stroking it from his face, and he sees in his peripheral vision the shapes starting to take form behind him. Some bloodied, some crying, some calm, some relieved. Death can have many faces, he's come to know during his time here.

He hears the first snap of a rose being picked, and he slowly rises from his place by the water in favour of fulfilling his task as gatekeeper.

As he turns around, he sees the mass of shapes within the marble pillars covered in clinging blue roses, moonlight spilling through from open walls. The roses bloom from the water, with memories of a life in their petals, waiting to be brought back to the water by their rightful owner. His job is to make sure that happens.

He slowly starts walking, taking the few steps up to the smooth marble floor, watching transparent faces with bones behind as he passes. A young girl with no hair. An old man with shaky fingers. A middle aged man with sad eyes.

Nothing interesting tonight.

He slowly makes his way to the black leather armchair he prefers, leaning back and crossing his legs as he settles in to watch. He's not meant to interfere unless something happens. If someone who shouldn't be here appears.

Kitayama watches as the man with the sad eyes reaches out for a rose, night sky blue, then breaks the stem and brings it to himself, his facial features gaining more substance, the skeletal shapes fading underneath his skin as he does.

Kitayama's eyes wander, bored with this scene as tonight appears to be calm. He watches as the spirits collect their memories in form of a rose, darker or lighter depending on the hardships of their lives, then slowly walks into the water with them and disappears. No one even bothers him before they go.

Some consider the gatekeeping unsettling, watching over the spirits until they pass over, but Kitayama doesn't mind. He enjoys watching them as they search desperately for the flower that belongs to them, enjoys how some interact with him. They can touch him, but he can't touch them, and it's dangerous but that's what's thrilling about it. Kitayama likes challenging them, likes staring at the unsettled ones until they attack him. If they do, he's allowed to kill them. Disconnect them from their memories and they end up wandering around empty, with no name or purpose, stuck between the living and the dead.

He sighs and accepts that there will be nothing interesting to do tonight either. It makes his eight boring night in a row. Only Fujigaya gets the fun.

Fujigaya is one of the few things Kitayama finds intimidating. He came here not too long ago, and there's something about him that's not like everyone else.

At first, Kitayama thought he was pretty cute, smiling and timid and easily offended, but after Fujigaya's first watch, all of that changed.

The morning sun rose over scattered flower petals, floating on top of the water and in drifts on the marble floor. No one had ever left petals behind before. Kitayama had just stared, feeling like he was watching dead body parts on the smooth marble that Fujigaya carelessly stepped over as he approached Kitayama, leaving for bed.

“You can't do that.” Kitayama had told him, but Fujigaya just raised an eyebrow at him. “Destroy them.”

“They were no good anyway.” Fujigaya said, eyes dark with something feral, violent, and Kitayama saw the demon right there through his eyes. “But if you really care, go ahead and piece them back together.”

And he left, despite Kitayama calling after him that that's impossible.

Fujigaya got in trouble for that night, but somehow, they kept letting him do it. Every night after Fujigaya's watch, there would be petals resting on the stone, just never as many as that first time that Kitayama can't think of as anything but a bloodbath.

He doesn't understand it, and it intimidates him. He doesn't know what it is Fujigaya does, only that he keeps blaming interfering spirits, dark ones that can't be controlled and has to be killed. But he has a feeling that's not it at all. Still, he can't figure out why Fujigaya would rip the roses apart, more or less every time, since they can't see what memories they keep. They're just flowers to anyone who doesn't hold the memories to begin with.

He could ask. But he doesn't talk to Fujigaya since that first watch. A lot of people don't. They find him strange or scary, but the rest find him beautiful or mysterious enough to want to be around him. Kitayama mostly finds him irritating, too unreliable, too sweet. Because Fujigaya keeps smiling and acting cute around people, but Kitayama can't erase that darkness he saw in his eyes from his mind, can sometimes feel like Fujigaya's eyes linger on him and there's nothing sweet about it. So he won't ask.

A rougher crack makes him look up, brought back to the reality before him, but it's just a child pulling their flower down from higher than they can really reach, and so brings more stem with it than others.

He watches the child examine their dark rose with wide eyes, but he doesn't really feel anything. Compassion was never his strong side, which might be what makes him able to do this with ease. There aren't many left around him now, the majority always gathering in the evening and just a few showing up later in the night, and he knows he has a few long hours before him.

His eyes find the broken stem again, the thorns that never seem to hurt anyone, and he can't keep from wondering what his own flower might look like. If he could see something in it or just know it was his. Sometimes he's considered if maybe that's what Fujigaya does that he can't. Sees something.

Kitayama rises before he's really thought it through, eyes still locked to the broken stem, curious to look at it.

He reaches out, barely letting his fingers graze the leaves spreading from the stem, moving to the fresh fracture and watching the strange colour of the green, almost iridescent. It's the water that does it, but it still looks surreal.

“What are you doing?” A voice suddenly speaks up, and Kitayama jumps, pricking his fingertip on a thorn from the involuntary movement and he winces.

He whirls around to see Fujigaya standing on the marble below the stairs, hands leisurely in his pockets as if he's meant to be here, dark hair moving slowly in the breeze as he watches Kitayama with curious eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Kitayama counters, voice sharp since Fujigaya has no business here right now. It's Kitayama's watch, he should be left alone.

Fujigaya just shrugs, a small, sweet smile on his lips and it's unnerving. Kitayama waits, raising an eyebrow while he purposely ignores the throbbing of his fingertip that seems to hurt more than it should from just a sting from a rose.

“I couldn't sleep.” Fujigaya says finally, softly, but Kitayama still senses mocking in his tone, which only grows as Fujigaya keeps talking. “I thought you might want company on your boring night.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. Get lost.” Kitayama says, trying to work out what Fujigaya wants. He feels a warm trail on his finger, a slightly ticklish feeling before it leaves, and he realizes he's actually bleeding, but he doesn't look down.

Somehow, Fujigaya still seems to know, his head tilting as his eyes trace Kitayama's body slowly until they reach his fingertips, locking there and Kitayama gets a creeping feeling of facing a predator that can smell blood.

“Aren't you the one who keeps lecturing me on not touching those.” Fujigaya says, but his voice lacks the earlier sweetness, lacks any tone, and he just sounds low and unsettling.

“I think the word you're looking for is shredding.” Kitayama bites back, instinctively hiding his hand behind his back to make Fujigaya stop staring at it.

It seems to somehow break a spell as Fujigaya looks up to face him again, blinking once before he starts slowly walking towards Kitayama. “Why do you dislike me so much?”

It's a blunt question, and Kitayama just frowns at him because he doesn't know how he's supposed to respond, doesn't know what Fujigaya's doing here and not knowing frustrates him.

“Why?” Fujigaya repeats his question as he stops before Kitayama, uncomfortably close but Kitayama stands his ground even though it suddenly feels like the scent of roses amplifies to the level of overdosed perfume.

“There are many things.” Kitayama finally says, figuring he doesn't owe Fujigaya any explanation.

Fujigaya frowns, perfect brows knitting together in concern, like it's important to him that Kitayama likes him even if he never intended anything similar before.

“No need to be mean.” He says softly, and Kitayama feels a brush of fingertips against his wrist half hidden behind his back and he pulls back instinctively.

Kitayama rolls his eyes at the comment, but Fujigaya doesn't pick up on it, persistent in reaching for Kitayama's wrist, and so Kitayama lets him, watches his hand be raised between them by Fujigaya's, curious as much as he's anxious about what Fujigaya's going to do.

The surprised gasp tumbles over his lips before he can stop it as Fujigaya leans forward and parts his lips, tongue slipping out to lick away the droplet of blood at the pad of his finger. Kitayama just stares with wide eyes, almost feeling paralyzed as his whole body sparks with confused adrenaline when plush lips close around his fingertip and gently sucks.

He tries to calm his heart rate, tries to think rationally, but he can't seem to do either, can only watch Fujigaya's lips sliding lower on his finger, eyes closed and eyelashes resting softly against cheeks like he thoroughly enjoys this. The arousal is involuntary, unwilling even, but Kitayama can't help it and he wonders what's going on, wants to pull his hand back but his muscles won't obey him.

Not until Fujigaya's eyes open to look up at him, lips leaving his skin does he feel like he can breathe again, and he finds himself gasping for breath with his pulse beating in his ears as Fujigaya lazily rubs his lips along Kitayama's fingers. Fujigaya's eyes keep him still where he stands, dark and terrifying like that first night watch, and Kitayama can't move, can't figure out how to handle this.

“There's so much fire in you.” Fujigaya mumbles against Kitayama's ring finger, tongue flicking out against hot skin and Kitayama involuntarily shivers even though he doesn't know what that even means. “I want it.”

Kitayama still doesn't understand what Fujigaya's talking about, but his mind feels oddly fuzzy, like he's just on the verge of drunk, and he wonders if it's the heavy rose smell that's giving him a headache.

He gasps as he finds his back pressed back against the pillar behind him, feels thorns tug at the fabric of his jacket, tangle in his hair and it takes him a second too long to understand Fujigaya's fists are in his shirt and one of his legs between Kitayama's.

The kiss is mindblowing in an uncomfortable way, Kitayama has no control at all and he feels breathless from the first second, gasping into it only to find his tongue lured out by Fujigaya's. It's invasive in a way he's not sure his mind is okay with but his body clearly is, arching into Fujigaya's touch as fingers start to wander, shuddering at touches he would barely react at normally. He feels drugged, disconnected from his body but still not, because he's very aware of the heat in his veins as Fujigaya's lips fall from his own and find his neck instead.

There's a moan fluttering into the air and it takes Kitayama a second to realize it belonged to him, but he feels how Fujigaya's lips curve into a smile against his own rapid pulse at the sound.

His own hands grasp for something to ground him, ending up with Fujigaya's shoulders where he clutches at all the fabric he can reach, trying to regain some control over what's happening, but then a hand slides under his shirt against burning skin and his head tips back on a moan, stinging his temple on a rose thorn but it barely hurts right now.

His whole body is overreacting, he's never usually this easily stimulated, and in the small part of his brain that can still think rationally it's scary as hell, but the rest of him loves it, the pleasure more intense and he's already hard in his pants where Fujigaya's thigh rubs slowly against him.

“Mmm.” Fujigaya hums against his neck, nosing back some of Kitayama's hair to reach more skin to close his lips around, and Kitayama tilts his head to give him better access on his own despite no active wish to do so. But it feels like if Fujigaya likes it, Kitayama's body definitely likes it, and it's creepy and super hot at the same time.

An actual cold wave goes through the haze in his mind when Fujigaya's hands drop to the fastenings of Kitayama's pants, and he can think clearer for a moment, thoughts rushing through his head like he's never done this before and he's not sure he wants to and he should punch the hell out of Fujigaya right now, but then lips cover his again and he's lost in another kiss.

He barely gets a chance to kiss back with how hard Fujigaya kisses him, and Kitayama's pushed back so forcefully he feels soft, cool petals brush his burning cheek and a thorn digging into his skin where neck meets shoulder but he doesn't mind. He doesn't even mind his pants being opened and pushed down, doesn't mind his leg lifted or the cool night air against his feverish skin.

He groans when there are fingers wrapping around his erection, fingers tightening in Fujigaya's jacket as he arches up against him, all of his muscles working to get as close to the pleasure as possible. Then the touch disappears, Fujigaya's lips leaving his in favour of placing soft but scorching kisses on his face, on his temples and cheeks and forehead and Kitayama sighs, distracted enough not to react to slick fingers until they're right where he feared they would go.

His eyes snap open even though he doesn't remember closing them as a finger slips inside him, his body surprisingly accepting despite the panic rushing through his body, and he faces Fujigaya's dark eyes, sweaty bangs hooding them to make them even darker. But the darkness is lust and not murderous urges, and it's surprisingly satisfying to something deep inside him, makes Kitayama accept the finger inside him and then another.

He's moaning helplessly at the burning stretch he feels, because even though it doesn't feel good it doesn't feel bad either, it's just _much_ and he doesn't know how to handle it, especially not when Fujigaya's lips hover just above his own like they wanted to kiss him but decided to listen first.

His fingers claw at Fujigaya's shoulders and he doesn't know how many fingers are inside him, only knows when they suddenly disappears and he whimpers from the pressure change. He wants them back, almost ready to ask for it if he could coordinate words because he can't stand the empty clenching around nothing, like his body demands something there.

Kitayama's head falls back with parted lips as something else presses against his entrance, something thicker and more solid, and as Fujigaya pushes in at a steady pace he feels like the stretch never ends, his head tilting from side to side because he can't find a soothing position. Then it pauses, and Kitayama breathes, full again and it seems to calm his body enough to let him regain oxygen.

“Beautiful.” He feels mumbled against the shell of his ear, and the word seems to caress his nerves with how much it sparks inside him, contracting his entire body with a moan, and then Fujigaya starts moving.

Kitayama cries out at the first thrust, his body on fire on the inside and he can't keep his mouth closed, clinging to Fujigaya because he's the only solid thing right now, waves of heat forced through his body more intensely than he can handle, and he's continuously stung by rose thorns as he's pressed into the vines with every thrust, the slight pain keeping him somehow grounded.

His mind is a dizzy mess, his skin burning everywhere Fujigaya touches him, pleasure building up inside him feeling more like a bomb than an orgasm being built, and he's almost scared of how this will end. Fujigaya's making little sounds against his skin, hands grasping Kitayama's thighs to hold him at a good angle, and Kitayama can't do anything, can barely balance himself or care that he's scratching his neck bloody on thorns, can only moan and try to keep his body from combustion but he feels like he's trying to hold together ice floes determined to drift apart.

Fujigaya's hand wanders, and Kitayama whines when it wraps around his erection again, his orgasm ripping so violently through his body that he sees white.

When he returns to reality, he's left shaking, temporarily vision impaired and gasping for any breath he can get through to his lungs.

He feels Fujigaya pull away, feels his clothes being refastened, but his legs are so shaky he sinks to the floor the second Fujigaya's hands leave him. His consciousness slowly returns, mind getting clearer and clearer the more he breathes, finally enough to glare up at Fujigaya still standing there.

But Fujigaya doesn't look at him. He's looking at the roses Kitayama's effectively crushed with his weight, eyes soft as he raises fingertips to touch the broken stems, the flowers who lost a majority of their petals.

Kitayama's eyes widen as he watches the roses heal before his eyes, stems straightening out and petals blooming in layers from the centre until there's nothing broken left and he realizes exactly what Fujigaya sees that he doesn't. How Fujigaya can actually piece roses back together.

Kitayama jumps when there's a hand reaching out above him to pick one of the freshly recovered roses, his heart beating quickly at the surprise for some reason. He looks around, noticing the mist on the water shimmering in tones of red that Kitayama's never seen before, and Fujigaya's suddenly nowhere to be seen, vanished like he dissolved into thin air.

Kitayama swallows, wondering if he imagined the whole thing, and he can't stop the rapid beating of his heart, stoically trying to ignore that he knows this emotion despite having hardly experienced it before. Fear.

 

~*~

 

 

 

 


End file.
